Oh, the sun and moon are tickin’
In the nighttime western skies—
A man’s got a lot of ridin’
Till that final day he dies.
He rides his ranch a wonderin’
Just what all this days will bring—
Ponderin’ all his finances
Till he hears the lone wolf sing.
He reckons it’s been a good life
And he would have changed no part—
And remembers those before him
That brings sadness to his heart.
Oh, the sun and moon are tickin’
And he hears that earthly chime—
He only wishes he’d done more
With that thing that’s known as time.
I was heading to the bunkhouse, after a wild night on the town
dancing & romancing & one too many round
Back in my wild & woolly days, one more rowdy Saturday night
full of cheap beer & whiskey & the necessary fight
I set Ol' Gus on auto pilot, he knew the way back to the spread
And I set to fighting with those rotgut demons dancing in my head
We were getting pretty close to home, so I eased up on the bit
when all of a sudden that dang horse he up & quit
His ears were all pricked forward, listening quite intense
I caught a drift of what might pass for music, somewhere beyond the fence
It took a lot of persuading, cussing & cajoling
but I got ol' Gus headed for all the caterwauling
the sound got more peculiar as we crested the hill
the memory of what I saw that moonlit night stays with me still
for I had stumbled on a peculiar party, hosted by a peg leg dog
and there was a one eyed pole cat doing comedic monologue
A Blueberry Roan soon took the stage, singing Motley Crue
I swear I saw a big ol' ornery hog with a "born to squeal" tattoo
There were bulls & Heifers dancing, I couldn't believe my eyes
why those bovine wore spikes and body piercings, in places utterly unwise
There where horses with mohawk hairdos head banging to the song
I swear to you, Ol' Gus, he began to sway & sing along
Now I know what you're thinking & I most heartily agree
it was the moon & wind playing tricks, along with rotgut whiskey
You city folks can keep your pink elephants parading in tutus
for this cowboy was shown the light by a Roan in blue suede shoes
I gave up hell raising & carousing, said so long to the honky-tonk life
Happy now to stick to ranching & dancing under the moon with my wife
But every now & again, when the wind blows & the moon is shining bright
I swear I can hear the livestock laughing & head banging through the night
But she would not even read it – she knew what lay within—
A red rage toward her country now the fire that was her friend.
Yet just a few days later on a now black Christmas Eve—
Another knock was heard from a cowboy come home on leave.
And Jim Blue Moon stood on the porch with presents in one arm,
A proof against dark forces wishing all of us great harm.
He said like Twain, news of his death was exaggerated—
And with smiles his wife helped him in, and they celebrated.
Yet in the haze of happiness and all her loving care,
Only now did Liz realize Blue’s left arm was not there.
But snatching life from death’s dark rider is a precious thing,
And nothing could dispel the joy their reunion would bring.
Then came the new Christmas day, which now seemed so clear and bright—
Yet Blue held back - flexed his cold metal arm in morning light.
“I wonder if it was worth it?” Blue mumbled at the sight—
But Liz nodded and said: “Yes, you did the thing that was right.”
Then they slowly opened presents - three united again—
Later dad and mom came over, and each rodeo friend.
“PBR’s done,” dad whispered in a voice like from the grave—
“Heck no!” Blue then replied, “I just lost the arm that I wave!”
Sure enough, with prosthetic arm, Blue rode the bulls once more—
Till he volunteered to go back to that faraway shore.
Alone, Jim’s wife held their child and the inner one so new—
As a full, pale Christmas moon rose and slowly turned to blue.
Jimmie’s dad was bent and wise, a man that life had rode by—
But Jim still recalled his words when he would laugh and half cry:
“Life’s a fragile balance between honor and what’s true—
A rare, livin’ miracle like a winter moon that’s blue.”
Jimmie started busting sheep when he was only six—
His dad taught him to ride and shoot, and do those fancy tricks.
He grew long and lean on that ranch and helped with the chores—
And rode the broncs and young bulls then, keeping track of his scores.
His name was Jimmie Moon, but his friends just called “Blue”—
‘Cause kids like him were few and far and his heart was strong and true.
He had wisdom beyond his years – he had seen the light—
He never did the easy thing; he did the thing that’s right.
It came as no surprise; he married a girl named Liz
Folks knew was large with child that was another man’s, not his.
But that was fine with Blue and he still followed his star—
Ranching now part-time and riding bulls in the PBR.
“It’s not like the ol’ days,” smiled his dad, not being funny—
“Then bull ridin’ was for buckles – now you’re talkin’ money!”
But just as Jimmie Blue Moon was on the edge of fame—
September 11th happened and stirred within a flame.
Though his family begged him not to sign and go away—
He enlisted in the Army just the very next day.
Sure enough, his service to a cause became a fact
And he was sent far off to war in a place called Iraq.
Then months and years rolled by as Blue only rode iron tanks—
Never forgetting his wife and child, for which he gave thanks.
Then came a Christmas season when Blue’s ranch was deep with snow—
A knock on the door brought news Blue’s wife did not want to know.
The moon is full above the canyon
listen to the call...
The music of the river
echoes between the walls.
A love song for the brave
who boldly choose to walk,
The path of their true destiny
as the drums begin to talk.
The boulder on the ridge
catches and holds the light,
Providing a mystic place
for passion in the night.
Hearts beating to the cadence
of the drums far below,
Sharing souls and secrets
only the moon will know.
Breathe deep the magic moment,
It is here by more than chance,
Come out of the half shadows,